


PAST THE END.

by graspthesanity



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:36:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27888412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graspthesanity/pseuds/graspthesanity
Summary: The ripples of the break-up between a painter and his muse.
Relationships: Nick Grimshaw/Harry Styles





	PAST THE END.

I could feel the water going through my fingers. I splashed some drops on my face, feeling them stick to my hair and run down to my open chest. I had to convince myself to keep moving, to keep thinking. I had lost love and I couldn’t feel it at my fingertips when I once would. I couldn’t stop thinking about a white wall.

I felt like I had all these memories before and now they were all gone. The paint was no longer fresh, but it had been like that for a while. Nothing made sense. I didn’t want to sleep alone, stuffed toys weren’t cutting it. I would invite people over, friends and one-night lovers who would ask me if the painting had cost me more than something bigger at an art fair. I never spoke up. Sometimes if I’d get drunk enough I would push the door to my studio and then he’d be all over the paintings. I drew so many portraits of Nick and took so many instant photos with different cameras that I couldn’t help but wonder if he had any of me left. It was hard to discard so many years of work and life.

I would sell them slowly or draw over them, watching black traces mixed with gold wash over his eyes and the smile he once held for me. Sometimes I couldn’t hold and I would cry, but eventually his face became something I was used to. I needed a blank canvas, even if I didn’t know what to draw, seeing his face and feeling replaced, it was better.

A lot of things didn’t help. I couldn’t open up to psychologists. I would take my medications, but I kept hopping from one psychologist to another, knowing that I couldn’t just keep repeating myself. That’s why I kept calling more people to spend the night with me.

I felt like I couldn’t find the reason to smile, other than to tell myself that I should keep doing it until it felt real. It was as if so much time had passed that he wouldn’t recognize me now. I ended up walking all over a vintage second-hand store, reminding me of the past lives with him, feeling angry and yanking a dress my size. I tried it on without seeing how much weight I had dropped. That was somehow pleasant. Well, at least the gym was getting me somewhere other than failed attempts at flirting. I would find the too muscular guys incestuous among themselves and everyone else would attempt flirting with whomever.

I would catch the other trainer’s eyes lingering on me until I stopped visiting the gym and the trainer got scared that I must’ve chickened out. That was the end of that affair. I couldn’t help but wonder how I would even feel love again. It surely existed, but I couldn’t get myself to open the door which I had shut. I felt like love belonged to the conveniently attractive ones.

It felt strange when I bumped into Alexa. She was skinny, but something was really off. She looked at me concerned, wondering if Nick had taken this during our divorce. She seemed to some glow to her. We stopped and hugged for a while, which was odd, without saying a word. Was I that broken inside?

Was someone leaving me drawing such a visible scar in my eyes?

I ended up inviting her back to mine’s because it started raining, as it does in winter and when the mood isn’t good. I wondered if she felt as if Nick would jump from a corner and I could see questions about him popping up on her lips. We drank tea in silence and every time we would speak it would be such small talk that I would forget questions and soon our answers and questions were mismatched. That’s when she put the cup down a bit too loudly and I became aware of the afternoon silence. She looked at me in pity. I heard of her new young boyfriend.

I couldn’t find anyone. I knew that sexuality was like a river for me, it was all about the people, but it didn’t seem to match up anyone and I would tear the canvas from myself in order to avoid spilling my emotions on the canvas.

I wanted him to leave me. But he wasn’t even a ghost, he wasn’t inside me, I was just aware of how empty and hollow my chest felt. I couldn’t open up to Alexa, the story had been chewed all over. Everyone felt it, everyone discussed it behind my back, smiles were forced at him and Mesh, some were genuine but the ´what about Harry´ would even be asked in front of me, to the horror of both of us.

I felt like throwing a bucket of paint on the empty white wall. I wanted to scream. I could hear dogs barking, I could hear Nick’s hushing and my own tears appeared out of nowhere, streaming down my fingers like water. Alexa immediately stood up and wrapped her arms around me, but I couldn’t return her hug. I couldn’t tell her to leave.

I couldn’t do anything to myself either. I was just holding everything inside. I hadn’t harmed myself. I was immersing myself deeper and deeper until I wouldn’t be able to feel my own skin.

Night came, the answers weren’t even reaching my mouth and she had something to tend to. I felt like I had blown out a candle. She did insist on me calling her if need be and she left with a smile, believing that it would be contagious, even if her nerves turned her blood cold because she was leaving.

It was too late to order food, by the time I stood up from the couch. I felt like I had seen Alexa’s ghost. I wasn’t high or drunk. I just pushed the door open to my studio, watching Nick consume me with his expressive eyes.

Maybe they were a bit too expressive for him. Maybe I took at least the sparkle away.

Loneliness.

Not everything needed to have love.

I sat down and I closed my eyes. Sometimes when I needed to sprint, I would do that, focus on my body and keep going.

I sobbed on the floor, knees to my chest, then opened my eyes.

I saw the sunrise, I probably cried and slept through out it all. I grabbed my rain jacket, a yellow one, which had no meaning until today. It should’ve rained or maybe it all poured over the night. I ran outside on the streets before they turned off the lights, I ran faster than I had in the gym the past few weeks, I felt like I had my breathing vanish, I just kept running until I reached the river. I bent in two, catching my breath, but I still saw the sun, I saw it from between the buildings.

I want the sunrise to be mine again.

I didn’t cry. If I did it was sweat and it’s not like I felt better. It was… a way to feel better.


End file.
